


Heavy Chains

by Lyssandra_Med



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aged Down Characters, Aged up characters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, Dark Hermione Granger, F/F, Ink Magic, Other, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Ritual Magic, Time Magic, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Sirius hates Peter.Bellatrix hates Peter.They hatch plans.Hermione hates ineptitude.She hatches some as well.---Or; wonky rituals and
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Sirius Black & Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Sirius Black & Hermione Granger
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Heavy Chains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dreamkissed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamkissed/gifts).



> Notes-
> 
> Sirius is agender, same age as Bellatrix. Both are younger by about five years.

"Cousin." 

Short. Terse, and dry. The single word was but a pant of air to grace the distance between them both.

“Cousin.”

Her reply was much the same. One single word, spoken shortly and with haste. It could barely carry the enormity of their position. It could only scratch the surface of their separation, of their bond.

And who cared if it was the truth. It was  _ their _ truth, damn the consequences.

But it was a truth far too late to save them. The first words spoken in years. Decades? Perhaps. There was no real way to tell, not with how absent time was on this rock. Azkaban’s guards never wore any timepieces. The Sun never shone. It had to have been forever though, especially if dear old Arcturus was dead. She had been ever so sure he would outlive Methuselah himself.

But the shifting winds that blew in through her window were true, of that she was sure. The magic blossoming within her chest was  _ right- _

“Calm yourself, Trixie,” Siri prodded at her with their newfound voice, half a tone of command and the other all reassurance. “Do you have it? Is it there?”

Well, that  _ was _ a good question. She didn’t really know, not yet, not until  _ it _ was confirmed as present. With aching joints she withdrew arms too frail and skinny for her liking, revealing to the world the paleness of her skin for the first time in forever. It amused them just as it amused her; her fingers were spiders twisted oddly, knobby bone meeting knobby sockets and all of it just little sticks ready to break underfoot.

All the rest except for  _ it. _ A glittering jewel beneath the half-light of a once-in-a-while Moon, lances and silvered spears passing between iridescent clouds to strike at her through the grated window. The largest of the beams struck true even as she waved the offending hand with all the tenacity of someone wishing to dislodge a particularly odious bug that had come to snack upon their flesh.

That  _ was _ what it  _ was, _ after all. A collar much more than just a ring and one that seemed to be well aware of her mounting distress.

“It passed last night, Trixie dear. Here,” Siri soothed her with their voice, soft and sibilant even as they extended their hand to reveal black gold and a striking green gem that bore proof to their words.

Head of House.

Her newly made Master, newly made Mistress, all in one and one for them all. 

The ring was a mirror to her own; the colours upon Siri’s finger were shifted opposite but equal, gleaming metal that shone with a sickly green light and an onyx gem at the centre that stared back with evil on its mind. Or perhaps that particular evil was on Siri’s mind. She had never once truly paid attention to the bond that existed between a Lord and Lady, the tethers that looped them to their Family and House, and all who fell within that circle. Why ever would she deign to give that particular ream of information any attention? This was never to have been her destiny. Siri and Regi were the Family’s hopes and dreams, not her, never her.

But there was a ring upon her finger now, and even as only an Heir she could  _ feel _ the heady thrum of magic taking hold. What it meant now that she held it, that Regi didn’t, she couldn’t think about at that moment. There wasn’t space enough in her mind to contemplate poor Regi’s end, Siri’s loss, and all the baggage that would come with it.

Focus on the now. Focus on the real.  _ This _ was real.  _ This _ was truly happening.  _ This _ was occurring right now, right here, right in front of and  _ on _ her.

Piss on the locks, for all the good that it would do her.

“Meaning bloody fucken’ what?” Her tone was biting and acerbic, chomping down as harshly as she could make it. Not enough though. Never enough. Siri seemed unphased by her outburst, and instead of reacting with glee or a taunting image, Siri remained still. Siri just watched. Just looked back at her with that slip of a smile on their face and madness blossoming behind those beautifully stormy eyes. The Black Madness, that was for sure. If not she’d eat her bed. Or whatever was left whole after all the rodents and the cockroaches had their fill. “Don’t give me that fucken’ face Siri, what’s on your mind? Out with it, out with it now or just leave me here to rot.”

Siri twitched at the words, tittered lowly beneath their breath and waved a hand in front of their face. Black hair so very much like her own was waved away with the motion, moved behind an ear with more piercings than Bellatrix could count. Or see, seeing as the sea air had salt and salt  _ loved _ to eat the little bits of metal that Siri had found and shoved through their cartilage.

She could see their face though. Could see a mirror image to her own, though portions and bits gave away the game. Cousins, they called them. Bastard siblings once, just once. Her father had said it to her, screamed it really. He’d been down in his cups and ruddy in the face with drink that stained his lips and dribbled down his chin. It was a known fact to the Elders of their Family but only common supposition for everyone else. The story went that Druella had mistaken Orion’s bed for Cygnus’s one night, pulled her pretty garters down and welcomed the Head with as much poise and grace as a Lady of proper standing could muster.

Well, fuck Cygnus. Or not, as was the case in this instance. He’d never once tried to be a father to her, never once had he sat her upon his lap and told her how all the world would be hers one day. No, instead it was always  _ ‘Sit up Trixie, use your utensils Trixie, stop beating all your betters Trixie,’ _ over and over and over and  _ over and over and over and  _ **_over and over and over-_ **

She snarled to that looking face, that fucking visage that seemed to want nothing more than to haunt and loom and  _ consume. _ “Fuck you!”

“Quiet it the fuck up Black, you crazy bint!” The Guard down the row knocked his steel against the bars of another unfortunate soul, his voice as hoarse as the wind. Tired and cold, that’s all there was,  _ aching _ and  _ cold. _

Backtalk, to her. That certainly wouldn’t do to, she certainly couldn’t let that pass without a fight.

“Piss off Red Cloak!” She bashed herself against the salty iron, against it again and again and again until red blossomed into life beneath her chin, until she could bite and nip at the cold metal that  _ wanted _ more than it had earned.

Siri sat patiently. Siri waited out her little tantrum. Siri kept calm until they were alone again, until it was quiet again, and nothing more could disturb them except the rattling snore of Rabastan a cell over.

“Tricky Trixie, look,” Siri waved the ring again, laughing beneath their breath as the item shined with madness. “Look! We can do it, Trixie, we can do it now!”

Do fucking what? Rot? Well, yes they could do that for sure, nothing in here would stop them from doing that. No one would stop the wind or the rain or the constant stream of foul slop that dribbled into their mouths from an enchanted ladle twice a day, no, no  _ nothing _ and no  _ something _ could stop them from falling-

Siri shot forward, bashed themself against their bars and barked, “Shut the fuck up Trixie!”

Her mouth closed shut with a clack, rotten teeth on rotten teeth and pain shooting through the edges of her jaw. Oh, how much that  _ hurt. _ Oh, how poor form of her. She’d been doing that more and more as time went on, she’d noticed it, yes she had.

But Siri was her Head and Brains and Magic and  _ she _ was the Heir,  _ she _ needed to listen to  _ their _ words-

“Trixie you fucking basketcase,” Siri soothed their tone, gentled their voice. “We can get Peter, we can get Pete, Pete-boy’o, Pete-Rat-Fucker,  _ we can do it!” _

That madness was shining once again. Bright and  _ warm _ and oh so very tempting. She wanted nothing, lived for  _ nothing _ more than that desire, that promise held deep within Siri’s gaze.

She fell into it, bit by bit. Fell in and found herself  _ flooded _ with need, pacified and buoyed by the calming madness of their shared Magic.

“How?”

\---

Finding themselves freed from the stifling and pitted walls of Azkaban was a task much easier said than done. Becoming their inner selves, whole and released to roll through wind and wave; she as a speck up high amid the clouds, Siri a form shrouded in the vast crests and troughs of the ocean. She, shrouded through with feathers to keep her warm and dry. Siri, cuddled with warm and waxen fur to do the same. 

It was a daring plunge. Hard work. Harder even than finding herself ensconced within the battlements and cages to begin with. But, in the end, it was worth every arduous fucking second.

Animagi.

The trait was both a skill and a state of being, a knowledge that she had nearly forgotten after years of being laid low inside of Azkaban. Those years had locked up her Magic, locked up her abilities, locked up  _ everything. _ Her inner self, hidden deep down beneath the oppressive wards and fortifications of the prison. Those wards were layered upon one another with threads and glyphs and runes that all connected backwards towards a singular point, all of the inhabitants chained by the amplified magic of a Lodestone trapped within the centre.

As far as the Ministry was concerned all their wards and protections were unbreakable. Inescapable, even. The Unspeakables certainly wanted their words and wards to trusted at their word. They had tested and toiled until the prison became a vortex that trapped everything inside. 

Too bad that not a one of them had ever once even bothered to check into the millennia-old Magic that comforted the Black Clan. Too bad that none of them had ever put thought towards the appearance of Siri’s ring, and too bad none had checked in on whether Arcturus had truly enacted their banishment from the Family Magic. Too bad that none of them had access to the indescribable inscriptions that covered their Family Lodestone, that none of them knew what constituted the blackened heart of the Family Magic.

Too bad, so sad.

An iron Obelisk, the whole of it frightening and  _ massive, _ a rusted surface with nails embedded within it to make modifiers and roundabouts out of wishes and imperfections. Ideals and intentions were things baked into that cursed object, baked into the rings that doted upon their fingers.

Heat and power, an ancient  _ thing _ that longed to come back to life. A  _ thing _ that clawed and planned and spun its own web upon the mortal world.

A thing now on her finger just as it had once sat on Siri’s, a thing now flooding her with the foremost tip of an energy she had never truly expected to wield.  _ This _ was how Siri had made it through those maddening years with just a little bit more sanity than all the rest.  _ This _ was their salvation and damnation, the chain that led to freedom.

None of it mattered. There really was no explanation she could conjure that would trump the feeling of air beneath her wings or the salty mist that reached high into the air. Siri continued to paddle far below her until they were nothing more than a single black speck of dust within the blue Hell that was the ocean. Their bodies were separate but minds aligned, each of them meandering closer and closer towards true freedom. 

This trip was taking them both far longer than they had planned on. It wasn’t a comfort to admit it wasn’t due to a fault of their planning or idea, but a consequence of rough seas and malnourished bodies. They could be angry, that much was sure. 

Bellatrix preferred to be happy. Elated.  _ Ecstatic _ with every second that they moved further away from Hell. Azkaban was becoming a distant menace as she rode on updrafts, and with enough time they finally managed to slither out from beneath the last vestiges of the massive wards that encompassed the space around the structure.

The air out here was fresh. There were no dark clouds to obscure her vision, and her lungs filled up the closer that dismal shoreline loomed from out across the horizon.

Freedom awaited them.

The wavering potential of a final escape was bringing with it all the energy that she needed to finish this little crossing. Siri still lay far below and behind her but the Magic of their now connected heart was  _ singing _ in delight as they approached wherever the Lodestone lay. Finally, with what amounted to being the very last of her energy, Bellatrix turned low into the wind to swoop across the tips of waves and skid to a halting roll of feather and flesh atop grainy dirt and sand that clung. The land was beneath her now, around her even, and barking laughter managed to cough at her from back closer to the surf.

Siri collapsed against her side not even a moment later. Their body was heavy and still shaking off the last shivers of residual chill and exertion, a pulse pounding against her side in a way that sent her own through the stratosphere. Bellatrix managed to amuse herself with Siri recovered strength, poked and prodded a blackened nail against Siri’s nude form and watching gooseflesh break out while laughter continued to pour out from a ragged throat. She had always wondered and amazed herself with thoughts of Siri’s ability to expend energy. She had watched them with burning envy while Siri and Regi were let loose to climb aged trees, to jump and sprint across the lane for hours on end until whatever sharp wick inside their core shuddered and starved.

Whatever or wherever all that energy had come from in their youth had obviously been put to excessive use during their devious little escape. Bellatrix stilled her hand atop Siri’s chest, felt the beating of their heart lessen and still, felt the struggling motions as ribs rose up and fell faster than she had ever thought possible. She watched with mirrors for eyes as sweat-salt mingled with sea-salt mingled with the pearlescent drizzle of the ocean spraying from behind them. 

Siri kept their eyes closed shut and body spread out, their fingers and toes flexing in the extended silence. Eyes clenching shut only to release, all of them slowly timed to the rolling of the sea.

Bellatrix cleared her throat, “What’s next?” The question was idle, her voice only barely discernable above the crashing of the sea. “What now?”

Siri hummed in response, coughed once and drew in their breath, “Home, Trixie. Now we go home.”

\---

_ Their  _ home wasn’t so much  _ her _ home so much as it was  _ a _ home; Siri’s childhood haunt come back to life to terrorize them both. Grimmauld Place was both old, rickety,  _ and _ a facade. It purported to be a townhouse that belonged with those of high esteem and wealth. It proposed that this was where  _ interesting _ things happened, where  _ important _ matters were discussed.

It fought to present itself that way but the glamour was beginning to fade and split now that the magic had gone away. It was a vestibule of hate and now manifested itself as nothing more than that. This was Walburga’s home, her precise and orderly abomination. This was her jewel, a landing for those moments after a Wizengamot session when the Pureblooded gentry needed to be reminded just  _ who _ and  _ what _ to vote for. 

But now the landing was filled in with dust and dreary grit that had swept in to become compressed under the lapse in care. The front door squeaked and groaned and fought at them both for every centimetre that they managed to push it open. Their shoulders earned pinpricks of pain as splinters thanked them for the effort. An annoying entrance to be sure, and not a very welcoming one.

But oh so much better than the cold embrace of Azkaban.

Not that it comforted either of them when Walburga began to holler up a storm from her position upon the wall. It  _ did _ certainly help Bellatrix to recall just why she so detested this vile estate and Siri’s side of the family in particular. Not that she had ever disliked Siri or Regi for that matter. In all instances they had effectively been one and the same; one mind stretched taut between two bodies that were launched outwards on disparate trajectories. They remained separate only for the superficial aspects of their forms and vastly different parentage.

Siri was fine. Siri was  _ more _ than fine, even when they sought to strike out on their own and denounce the richness of their blood. Siri was family, even as they comforted her misbegotten sister. Andromeda was, by and large, just fine as well in Bellatrix’s opinion.

Not that anyone ever bothered to  _ ask, _ but that was that. Andromeda had left with enough bridges burned to ashes though that even while Bellatrix longed for some form of reconciliation she knew it was an impossibility. Well, maybe not  _ now, _ seeing as she was free, but that would-

“Watch your step,” Siri chimed in, quiet as crystal while they began to ascend the massive staircase. Both of them ignored Walburga’s increasing distress in service to moving slowly up the creaking stairs. Bellatrix walked behind Siri and kept her eyes on shaking limbs, matted hair still crusted over with salt and tattoos that would move or shift along a too pale back. The trip inland had been harsh on them both, and while they were now  _ home _ she knew it wouldn’t do to have Siri pass out from overexertion no matter the depths to their energy.

“They’re likely to check on us, right?” Her voice was the barest whisper even though she could not understand just why she chose that volume. She felt a shiver lance down her spine, filled with just the faintest undercurrent of  _ something _ she could not explain. Something she refused to name, something she refused to acknowledge. Bellatrix sucked in her breath and grit her teeth, “They’ll know we’ve left, likely by now they’ve checked on Arcturus. Might have found his body even.”

Oh by all the Gods that was a disturbing image. Dear old Grandfather Arcturus; a rotting corpse lying bloated and ruddy-faced where once a man she cherished had been. His waste would be ruining the room of wherever he was unless there were elves still about to manage his decomposing body.

Did he even have any elves left? All of  _ hers _ had been confiscated before she left for residency in Azkaban. Aurors were many things but even they knew to restrict such effervescent-

_ Pop! _

“Master Black, Mistress-”

Siri’s reaction was nearly instantaneous. Their hand slammed forward against the offending throat and pinned the space where the voice was made. Siri’s arm was a blur of motion that vibrated with the intensity of misaligned glyphs and too pale skin, the action so much a shock that Bellatrix found herself nearly falling off the steps. The elf (and truly it was an elf, for nothing and no one else would  _ dare _ to invade this sacred space or label Siri as that which they were most certainly  _ not,) _ slammed back into the wall before sliding upwards with a noise that  _ cracked _ more than it  _ knocked. _ Bellatrix was no stranger to a lack of empathy for living creatures. She bore no hatred nor desire that that which was not  _ hers _ by right and blood. Even still she found herself wincing when the movement stopped.

That motion  _ hurt. _ A pain  _ earned. _ The creature had well and truly angered Siri.

And now it seemed likely to pay the price.

_ Prices, _ by the look of things. The face was grey as funeral ash and pointed towards a tight  _ ‘V’, _ aged and cragged skin filled in with dust and soot from a home that had been so empty for oh so long. It  _ was _ a face, Bellatrix was certain of that much at least. That it was a face modelled after some mad God’s idea of one was unimportant, it was living and it shone with fear. Two eyes of twinned silver peered up at them with a blinding intensity that was only marred by the thinnest lens of a cataract just taking hold. The nose was crooked and twisted as evidence of past violence meted out for reasons Bellatrix did not know.

The ears were floppy bits of leather stapled atop its head with one torn halfway down the side and healed by what looked like a scrim of scarred tissue. It was hideous. It was ugly. It was  _ disgusting _ in a way that Bellatrix found both compelling and familiar and reminiscent of all the memories that she had locked up and labelled as  _ home. _

The Black family was something dark and broken. Ugly and misused. Siri was a shining example of their predatory instincts; someone who could stand up to so much abuse and yet remain powerful and unbroken, abandoned by all the systems that had been set in place to  _ prevent _ such violence was someone she could follow. She was similar, if different. Broken, left to fend for herself in a loveless marriage that eventually led to her unwilling servitude, to slavery, to disabusing herself of any thought of living for  _ her. _

The comfort of a cell had become their chosen refuge. Fuck it. Burn it all.

“Trixie, shut it. You  _ really _ need to get a handle on that whispering, aye?” Siri throttled the elf even further, wringing its ashen face until pale blue had entered the picture. They leaned in, teeth bared in a feral smile and silver eyes  _ mad _ with rage, voice a sing-song just as sensual as it was frightful, “Kreacher, you will forevermore address me as Siri, or as your Head of House, or you shall not address me at all. Is that understood?”

Siri loosened their hold along the creature’s neck until it had slid out from between their fingers and fallen forward. The knobby creature landed against the stairs awkwardly and let out the faintest of bruised squeaks, “As the Head decrees…”

Gravely. Pointed. Just the  _ barest _ hint of resentment colouring the tone.

Bellatrix hated that. Hated  _ it. _ But then again she hated a great number of things and while this was certainly one of them and very high up it still wasn’t the highest upon that hallowed list. No, that hatred was reserved solely for Petey, may he ever rot in Hell.

“Trixie, Trixie, Trixie. He will, no worries there.” Siri stepped towards her, feral eyes and words clipped and hard and gentle despite it all.

She  _ really _ needed to get a handle on that.

\---

Safety was never something that could be guaranteed. You couldn’t buy it in a store, pack it neatly and put a lovely pink bow on it. Safety and clear passage were the finer points of a necessity in their world but there was never any sense that one would  _ have _ safety and clear passage no matter how hard they worked at it. 

This was a world where someone could be destroyed with a hastily summoned animal, or a poison slipped into your food or drink. This world was a venom that would vanish itself before anyone noticed it had even been there. But Bellatrix knew shortcuts. She knew ways  _ around _ the harsher points in life. Rituals could certainly mitigate some of the risks. Wards would handle most others. 

It took a single wizard nearly thirty-four years to finally marry the two disciplines in such a way that a cast spell became a cast ritual became a ward. In ways and manners that Bellatrix knew not, some insane mind had figured out how to overlap the protections into something so strong that no one and nothing could ever penetrate the protected space.

Fidelius. A Charm that had started small and then become known the world over. The end-all and be-all of protection wards, and a fairly insane undertaking that at once managed to  _ remove _ the conscious knowledge of  _ where _ a location was,  _ and _ somehow managed to relocate that knowledge within only a few chosen keepers. It wasn’t so much a secret that they held but a sacrifice.

Someone would willingly give up all their knowledge of a  _ place _ or a  _ thing _ in order for others to hold it. Outsiders could be brought in of course, usually a one-way trip unless someone went through all the trouble of later including them in the design. The new  _ Keepers _ would never have full access. None of them could, not if the idea was to limit entry. They could know of  _ a _ way to enter or exit, but they would only have that which they were allowed. 

But they could never unconsciously give up that location or entrance.

The ward was serious, and Siri appeared to be absolutely Hellbent on taking it as seriously as they could, much to Bellatrix’s chagrin. Not that she couldn’t understand the severity or need for absolute perfection (she  _ was _ a Black after all, perfection was in their blood,) but surely they needed to hurry. It was only a few hours post escape but the Ministry wouldn’t sit on their haunches for long. Soon enough their escape would be published and every witch or wizard the world over would be hot on their tails. She  _ understood _ that this needed to happen to keep them both safe.

But she was tired.

“Alright,” she groused, “What’s next?” Her grumbling was accompanied by movement, by hands pulling back the sweat-soaked mass of her curls and nimble fingers that tied it all back with a length of summoned twine. As soon as she finished she thrust he hand out towards Siri, expecting perhaps charcoal or another bit of chalk to be placed before her. Instead, Siri dropped an ornamental dagger into her waiting palm, black smoke coalescing from the air into a form of silvered metal and ebony filigree. “So… What exactly am I supposed to do with this? Where do you want a cut?”

Siri merely shrugged in her direction before waving long black hair away to reveal a stretch of scars and magically inked tattoos that spiralled back along their spine. “Cut your palm, six centimetres and perpendicular to your trigger finger. Put it in a phial, Trixie. You’ll be the secret keeper, I’ll just finish up these runes.”

Siri knelt and Bellatrix watched, her hands moving unbidden to summon up a thin phial and stopper. The magic that had been swirling around them since they had begun the initial preparations was growing as the day wore on. It was awake and moving, stirred to life as chalk met granite floor and charcoal carved out glyphs and runes in patterns that stained their hands. The House had lain quietly, and while they could still distantly feel the tug of the Lodestone, it was quiet. Nearly silent. Watching them, observing them, waiting for the first true use of ability in who knew how very long. Likely it hadn’t felt itself amped to this level of need since the frenzied night of her incarceration, or Siri’s.

Now it was awake.

Still a silent observer to their madness (much the same as Kreacher, the elf still sulking about the corners and edges of the basement, cradling steel support beams and hiding between the railings of the stairs,) but growing more aware with every second. It  _ needed _ this much the same as they did, it  _ wanted _ this too. 

Bellatrix raised the knife and sliced her hand for all to see, and for the first time in years felt a true flood of magic swirl into her opened veins. The tug was imperceptible at the first gasp, merely the comforting hold of a lover passing by. Soon though it had grown from gentle to firm, hard and  _ needy. _

Her bones began to warm, her muscles relaxing on their own, and even dear Siri seemed to catch the scent. They stripped themselves fully, bared to the world and their chosen Gods, dancing between the sweetened scent of blood.

_ Thump- _ **_thump_ ** _ -Thump _

Her heartbeat pounded without relief, her chest burned with the furious inhale- _ exhale _ -inhale- _ exhale _ that she fought to keep herself bound to.

One by one the fading drops of blood fell into the phial, dripping ever so slowly until she was certain that she had enough, until Siri had a grin of satisfaction upon their slim face, lithe body positively shivering in delight.

_ Thump- _ **_thump_ ** _ -Thump _

The magic bumped and crackled, invading her ears and her sight. Blue sparkles, thick ropes of thinned down lightning and electricity (and fuck all the Muggleborn curs who believed them all to have  _ no _ working knowledge of the physical world and all the inherent magic of it,) that wreathed and hugged her form. The Lodestone watched, watcher her, watched them, watched them  _ all, _ watched as Siri began to chant.

Low tones that pressed against her heart. Soft words that filtered in one ear and out the other. Words a whisper, voice nothing but silence, nothing but  _ loud, _ nothing but  _ nothing _ but  _ madness. _ It  _ invaded _ this shit-heap of a home. It  _ owned _ this little world of their, this space and the  _ Thump- _ **_thump_ ** _ -Thump, _ beating and building towards some crescendo timed with Siri’s words.  _ Something  _ crawled inwards along the cut on her palm, something that smelled of roses and lilacs and all the little scents that she associated with  _ her _ magic, with  _ their _ magic, with the Lodestone and its power.

Bellatrix knew the rules, she knew the process back and forth. Preparation was handy, preparation was essential in cases where one sought to invoke mixed-magics that could potentially wipe them both from all living memory. Which (if she  _ really _ thought about it,) might be advantageous. Surely if she managed to simply think of removing herself from anyone’s mind, from the thoughts of anyone that might have ever known her, then no one and nothing would ever have anything to do with her or want her or need her or remind her of the fact that she had been sold off to an absolutely insane bastard who’s highest thoughts were which of his whores he would have that night, or whether the pitiful seed that he had planted in her belly would finally,  _ finally _ take. 

It would  _ never _ take, not so long as she was alive, not so long as she was alive, not with all the determination swimming in her veins, all the desire for  _ freedom _ rolling in her mind. Even the magic surrounding them both seemed to agree with her idea, she knew it, she could taste it she wanted  _ this _ and it wanted  _ that _ and  _ that _ led to  _ this _ led to her acknowledgement that it would be best if they were  _ both _ removed-


End file.
